The Third Option
by M. Marchand
Summary: When given the choice between Kim and Terry, Don chooses neither.Counterfeit Reality PostEp


Acknowledgements:  
Omi as always  
For everyone who takes the time to review my fic and send feedback  
If you haven't gotten a thank you email from me  
(for those folk who review on FF without revealing their email addresses)  
then email me directly for a special fic thank you treat!

Disclaimers:  
"A vague disclaimer is nobody's friend" - Willow, Buffy the Vampire Slayer  
I do not own the characters Don, Kim, Terry or Charlie, nor do I have any  
rights to anything related to the TV show Numb3rs. I plead fair use and  
claim only my own writing and characters.

* * *

Don stood in the Bureau office, surrounded by people yet completely alone. He'd just watched the only two women he'd ever truly loved walk away from him.

Kim had invited him to go with everyone for drinks, in a platonic 'let's put the past behind us and move on' sort of way.

Terry had simply smirked at him with a knowing look that told him she had found out about his history with Kim.

Don just didn't need this right now.

It had been painful enough to see Kim again but to see her working side by side with Charlie... It was like the universe was taunting him by saying, look: here's the fiancée you had to give up and here's the family you got in return. After years of being completely disconnected from his only sibling's life, Don now saw this as his second chance with Charlie, one he wasn't going to give up.

Terry was another story. Ever since they'd reconnected in L.A. the specter of their Academy romance had hung over his head. It felt to Don like he was expected to just bring up those feelings again, marry Terry and live happily ever after. Yeah, Don thought, as if I'm a happily ever after kind of guy...

Don finished up his work and left without speaking to anyone. It might have been Friday night but Don just wanted to get home.

* * *

Don walked into his apartment, threw his jacket over a chair and started to take off his gear. This evening ritual: removing his gun, cuffs, cell phone... always felt like it should lighten the load but it never did.

Once he had dropped the last item on the kitchen counter, he put his head down and let out a sigh.

"Rough day at the office?" A pair of slender arms wrapped themselves around his waist from behind and started caressing his body with a sense of ownership.

"You beat me here again." Don said, not turning around.

"Well, that's not surprising. You always work late. Besides, unless I'm stuck in night court I always get off on time." The woman paused to lay a kiss on the back of Don's neck, making him shiver. "So, I heard about Kim. Do you have a confession for me?"

Don turned around to face the woman behind him. "Are you asking as Assistant District Attorney or just as a woman who's been using me for sex and is jealous?"

The woman pretended to look shocked then smirked. "That's Ms. Assistant District Attorney to you." She started removing Don's tie. "Besides, our... arrangement... is mutually beneficial. If I'm using you, then you're using me."

Don put his hands over hers to stop her for a moment. "Martina, I didn't mean it like that."

She took a breath and looked up at him. "Don, I'm fine with the fact that you will never be in love with me. Really, I am. You know I'm not in this for love. I know you care about me but..." Her voice lowered a little as her tone turned serious. "Neither of us seems to be capable of love, real love, at the moment. But that doesn't mean I don't... we don't need..."

"Contact," Don finished her sentence.

"Yeah," Martina said. "We need this to stay sane. It's this or casual sex with strangers and lots of alcohol and that way lies madness or whatever the quote is."

Don smiled and removed his hands pulling away his tie as well.

Martina pulled Don's shirttails out and ran her hands up underneath. Don closed his eyes and relaxed into the sensation of her hands on his bare skin.

He'd discovered early on, and Martina had agreed, that their weekend respites were just as much, if not more, about touch than about sex. As if their work in law enforcement left them so detached that only the feel of another human being's skin against their own made the feeling return. Don did care about Martina... He just needed her more than he cared about her.

He opened his eyes in time to see her shed her suit jacket, dropping it to the floor. Without another word, he lifted her up and carried her into his bedroom.

* * *

Getting called to the Medical Examiner's office was a routine part of Don's job. Only right now, he didn't have any cases that involved a corpse.

He met up with the LAPD cop who'd summoned him just outside the door to the autopsy room.

"Ray."

"Don. Thanks for coming."

Ray opened the door and the two men walked into the room. A body was on the table, covered with a sheet.

"What do you need from me, an ID?"

"No, we've got that covered."

"Is this a federal case, then?"

"No," Ray seemed uncomfortable. "It's more of a courtesy call. The victim was involved in a felony hit and run accident. An SUV smashed into their convertible and they were killed instantly. The bastard got in another accident only a quarter-mile down the road. He hit a semi and the semi won. He probably won't recover from his head injuries..."

"Ray, what aren't you telling me?" Don was getting a little anxious now.

"Well, we went through the victim's cell phone contact list looking for next of kin and um, we found your phone numbers in there. Office, cell and home. Knowing who she is I figured you'd know her and all but she had your home number on speed dial so..."

Suddenly all the oxygen seemed to leave the room. Don's chest felt tight and heavy and Ray's words sounded slurred in his ears.

"It's Assistant District Attorney Martina Malverde."

* * *

Ray had been discreet enough to allow Don to remove the key to his apartment from Martina's personal effects. It had burned a hole in his pocket for the rest of the day.

Terry had noticed the change in him but he brushed her off, not wanting her to find out about Martina. Unfortunately, news got around fast that an Assistant District Attorney had been killed and Don now had to face all the talk in the office about her in addition to his own private grief.

Terry had put two and two together and gratefully hadn't come up with the full four. She'd simply approached Don with the news, reminding him that he'd begun to get friendly with ADA Malverde during the Burdick kidnapping trial.

"You guys must have gotten to be good friends over the course of that trial. I remember you putting a lot of time into helping with the prosecution's case."

Don simply nodded. He'd originally put forth the effort to ensure Charlie's new friend Ethan would have the piece of mind knowing the men who kidnapped his daughter would get the maximum penalty under the law. But then, Martina had been such a kindred spirit... They couldn't help but be drawn to each other: damaged souls in search of some sort of affirmation of life.

Now that life had been snuffed out by some idiot. Brain damaged and in a coma? He deserved far worse than that, Don thought bitterly.

"I'm going home," he announced and fled the office before Terry could protest.

* * *

Don's cell and home phone had rung repeatedly since he got home. He ignored them. He'd learned from experience not to answer the phone when he'd been drinking. He'd yelled at his father once unintentionally and had regretted it deeply afterwards.

Don wasn't surprised to hear a knock on his door but was surprised when whoever was knocking went away after only a few tries.

Good, he thought, his trick of parking one street over - which he always did when he wanted to be left alone at home - must have worked.

Apparently it didn't because the knocking came back just a few minutes later.

"Don, it's me," Charlie called out. "I know you're in there. You're parked on Florencita again and that means you want people to think you're not home."

Don got up and threw open the door. "How the hell did you figure that out?" he asked.

"Don't have to be a genius, Don. Just your brother," Charlie said as he crossed the threshold and entered Don's apartment.

"What do you want?" Don stayed where he was, holding the door open as if Charlie wasn't staying long enough for him to bother shutting it.

"To talk." Charlie plopped himself down into Don's favorite chair, either oblivious to Don's impatience for him to leave or simply not caring.

Don finally shook his head and pushed the door shut, returning to the living room. He gave Charlie a light shove. "Out of my chair."

Charlie obediently got up and sat on the sofa next to him.

Don sat down in his chair and grabbed his drink, ignoring Charlie who, for a moment, was simply watching Don, taking in the scene in front of him.

"How much have you had to drink?" he asked quietly.

"Not enough," Don growled.

"Well, there isn't enough alcohol in the world to make up for someone you care about dying." Charlie's voice was soft but insistent.

"You got that right," Don grumbled. "So, you've come to sober me up? Good luck on that."

"As much as I'd like to see that happen, Don, I know better. You're bigger than me and you have a gun. Is there really any way I could get that bottle away from you?"

"No," Don said, eyeing him suspiciously anyway. "So if you're not here to stop me from drinking, what are you here for?"

"To keep you from drinking alone," Charlie explained, with concern in his voice. "Got another glass?"

Don nodded his head towards the kitchen and Charlie got up and got himself a glass. He also brought out two bottled waters and put one in front of Don. "Here, you'll be able to drink more if there's some water in you as well."

Don looked at him, surprised. Charlie merely shrugged. "Hey, you're going to drink the same amount whether I'm here or not so you might as well make sure you take care of yourself while you're at it. Speaking of, how about a pizza? I'm starving."

Don waved him off but Charlie called for a pizza delivery anyway, hoping once it arrived Don would change his mind and have something other than scotch for dinner.

* * *

They sat in silence for most of the evening. Charlie had been right, Don had ended up splitting the pizza with him and he felt better knowing his brother had eaten something even if it wasn't the healthiest food on the planet.

He'd slowed down on the scotch as well but not stopped completely. While he wasn't anywhere near sober, Charlie could tell the emotions he'd been trying to push down with alcohol were starting to come up again.

Hopeful, Charlie pulled up a dining room chair and sat directly facing his grieving brother. The pain in Don's face was evident. Charlie knew that expression all too well. Don allowed Charlie to remove the glass from his hand and put it on the table. Charlie took his brother's hands in his own and held them, rubbing the backs of Don's hands with this thumbs.

Don simply stared at their joined hands. Contact. Skin. Life. Martina wasn't there to give that to him but Charlie was.

"Don... I realize this must be hard for you and I want to help, but I know whatever I do won't be enough. But tell me what it is I can do."

Don grasped his brother's hands tighter, feeling the energy of life within them. Human contact... It's what everyone needs to survive.

"You're already doing it, buddy," Don whispered, finally able to let the tears flow. "You're already doing it."


End file.
